As a man whose very name has come to define the process whereby reality can be sanitised, Walt Disney must be spinning in his cryogenic chamber at the continued failure to Disnefy France. (Although, contrary to the urban myth, he's not actually frozen and stored beneath the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland. But the one about the kid who goes missing in the park, only to wake woozily hours later behind Space Mountain and short of one kidney? That definitely happened.)

Disneyland Paris has just marked its 20th year in business, and the anniversary has coincided with reports of €1.9bn of debt and photographs of striking workers silhouetted against the park's enchanted castle. Of course, Disney is famously laissez faire – in February, the firm so often nicknamed Mouschwitz by disgruntled employees relaxed its dress code, and now allows its theme park staff to grow beards or goatees no more than a quarter of an inch long. But the suspicion remains that "Main Street en greve" was not the look Uncle Walt wanted.

Of course, the Magic Kingdom has had the odd brush with marauding realists. Back in 1970, a crowd of Yippies – followers of the counterculture Youth International Party – invaded Disneyland, hoisted the Viet Cong flag on Tom Sawyer Island, and, according to reports, marched down Main Street singing the theme to The Mickey Mouse Club "sarcastically". Riot police were deployed, and one can only assume some youngsters visiting the park that day will still cherish memories of watching the baton-charging cops clean up Main Street while Goofy stood awkwardly by. (My own memories of Disney World Florida, visited age 25, are forever coloured by having been repeatedly pawed – hooved? – by a lascivious Eeyore over breakfast. It was an encounter that threatened to ruin the Hundred Acre Wood for me in perpetuity.)

But as some analysts predict that the Mouse may never turn a profit in France, it is pleasing to note the recent proposal of a park more befitting to the country's sense of itself. Disneyland Paris bosses apparently once claimed that "only Napoleon had the stature to take on Mickey Mouse" – so roll up for Napoleonland, which reportedly has the backing of government, tourism officials, and the Napoleon family itself, and will showcase the achievements of le petit caporal. The relocation of the Eurostar terminal means British visitors will not be able to set off for Napoleonland from Waterloo – but the attraction does promise to afford the outsider that lunatic glimpse of national character which is the quintessence of all the best theme parks. And before any French knickers are got in a twist, it was Baudrillard who asserted that the only real place in America was Disneyland, because it admitted to being a simulation, while the rest of the country was insidiously so.

Anyway, as a theme park junkie, I can assure you that the longer you spend in them, the more you see these places as war by other means. Thus the debt-laden Mouse soldiers on pridefully in France, while the latter country frets a Napoleonic march might be stolen on its own plans. "If we don't do it soon," declared one backer of Napoleonland, "you can be absolutely sure China will get there first." Despite this appearing to be a variant of Alan Partridge's attempt to persuade the BBC to commission his idea for a programme called Inner City Sumo – "If you don't do it, Sky will" – the fear is not entirely irrational. The rapacious People's Republic do have form on appropriating theme parks. Outside Beijing lies an attraction whose erstwhile slogan – "Disney is too far, so please come to Shijingshan" – hinted at the cheery disregard for intellectual property espoused within. Amused international visitors posted photos of ersatz Mickey and Minnie entertaining the guests, while the owners countered Disney lawsuits by flatly denying that the latex rodents were mice at all, claiming they were cats with large ears.

Elsewhere, fans of the even more recherché may care to visit Lebanon's Tourist Landmark of the Resistance, operated by Hezbollah and described as a "tourist jihadi centre", which sports bunkers and tunnels and anti-aircraft guns for the kiddies. In Hidalgo, Mexico, there's an attraction where visitors can experience the thrills and spills of attempting an illicit crossing into the US border, with costumed villagers playing everyone from blank-firing border patrol agents to coyotes. In Lithuania, you can visit somewhere nicknamed by locals as Stalin World.

But as the Mouse is all too aware, daylight always threatens to intrude on magic. Perhaps the answer is to let it. We'll play out with a genuine excerpt from Marlon Jackson's proposal for a slavery-themed park in Nigeria: "Visitors will be able to see the route their ancestors walked, shackled together as they were whipped toward the point of no return. Visitors will also be able to pay their respects at the site of a mass grave for those who died before boarding ships across the Atlantic Ocean. Visitors can then travel a few yards in a buggy to play a round of golf."

Twitter: @marinahyde